


The Evening Prophet

by magicspacehole



Series: Bad Education [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Gossip, Grumpy Old Men, Hogwarts Professors, Humor, Missing Scene, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicspacehole/pseuds/magicspacehole
Summary: In which two veteran Hogwarts Professors discuss the important news of the day. Or pretend to, anyway.Companion piece to Bad Education, chapter 11.
Series: Bad Education [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122854
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	The Evening Prophet

They were wasting away the evening in the staff room, which had become entirely too modern of late, what with its constant smell of coffee and the distinct lack of ashtrays.

Cillian sat in the large chair in front of the fire with the _Evening Prophet_ held out in front of him. Grayson picked up a paper from the kitchen and took a seat on the sofa. Neither of them were reading. It was the act of holding papers that mattered, really. Not the actual news.

"Deputy Head's gone again," Grayson muttered.

"Aye. What do we think it is this time? Secret mission for the Ministry? Or academic sabbatical?"

Grayson sighed. "Who knows. Maybe he's got gout or something. Hope the bastard knows he won't be that healthy forever."

Cillian laughed. "Ha. If anyone was goin' to live forever, it'd be that arsehole."

“You have a point, there.”

They took some time to not-read the paper. An appropriate length of silence was required, otherwise all they would have been doing was gossiping like women.

“Ministry’s pushin’ for more Muggle nonsense,” Cillian muttered eventually.

“What nonsense?”

“Eh, they want to incorporate Muggle money into the market.”

“Are they mad?” Grayson exclaimed, almost yelling. “Don’t they know what a mess that’ll be? I won’t do it, Cillian-”

“I know you won’t.”

“I will not use paper money-”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Over my dead body.”

“You say it all the time.”

“Well, I’m not wrong, am I?”

Cillian shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out once they do it. Merlin... Paper money. What’s the point?”

They turned their attention back to the paper.

"That young one's trouble," Grayson commented after a while, his eyes scanning random parts of the random page he was on.

"Which young one? Christ, Grayson, they're all young. Well, 'cept for Beery."

"He _thinks_ he's young. Bloody pansy."

Cillian gave him a look. "You know that kind of talk will get you fired nowadays, old man."

Grayson waved him off. "Bah. I'd like to see them try. No one knows as much about Runes as I do."

"You hate Runes."

"You're not wrong there."

They sat for a while. Then Cillian said, "so which young one?"

"Eh?"

"I said, which young one?"

"Ah. The boy."

"Boy indeed. What's his name again?"

"Riddle." Grayson scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. "Not a pureblood, obviously."

"Does that matter?" Cillian asked, preparing to defend his own mudblood status.

"Easy, Tyre. Just stating facts, you know."

"Aye, but again I must ask, does it matter?"

"Not in this case. But, as I said, I think he's trouble."

This time, it was Cillian who waved Grayson off. "Nah. You just hate all young men."

"Aye," said Grayson. "Too soft."

"And women."

"Too liberal."

"And children."

"Utterly useless."

"Can't argue there."

They sat in silence again. Cillian turned over some pages of the paper. After a few minutes of staring at the Quidditch section, he said, "why trouble?"

"Eh?" Grayson grunted, half asleep.

"Why do you think he's trouble?"

"Beery says he saw the boy cast a repelling curse so strong he almost took half the Forest down."

"Which forest?"

"Er- the older one."

"Right. So?"

 _"So,"_ Grayson muttered, sounding exasperated, "you don't see power like that very often. Not from someone so young."

"Maybe the boy just really hates forests."

"But think about it. Teaching Defense, too? Mark my words," Grayson warned, shaking his head. "He'll be trouble."

Cillian shrugged. "Maybe. But he won't be nearly as bad as that McGonagall."

"I told you what I thought about that one."

"You think because she's a woman she can't be a murderer? It's in the eyes, Grayson. I'm telling you. Pure evil."

"Evil, maybe. But murderer, Cillian? Really?" 

"Yes."

"Who would she have murdered?"

"Well, I don't know, do I? Skilled murderers hide it well."

Grayson let out a long sigh. "Maybe they're both murderers. Maybe they'll kill each other. Then we won't have to worry about either of them."

Cillian shook his head. "Nah, have you seen them lately? Always together. They're more likely to spawn little murderers before killing one another."

"Bloody hell, that's the last thing we need."

They both sat back and stared at the fire.

"Remember when Hogwarts used to hire actual teachers?" Grayson reminisced.

"Not really.”

“It’s not like it was in our day.”

“Grayson, you were thousands of Galleons in debt and neck-deep in organized crime when Black hired you. I was stealing from the school research fund to make illegal money-laundering charms within my first week."

"I thought you had that patent on guaranteed apparition?"

"Right. Everyone thought that."

They both laughed until Grayson started wheezing. “Anyway,” he coughed, “there are so many _rules_ now. You can’t do anything anymore.”

“Well, to be fair, organized crime and money laundering were illegal back then, too.”

“Right, but all the fun things we used to do… You know, the drinking and the socializing. You can’t even talk to women anymore. All they do is yell at you about respect.”

“Can you idiots not hear yourselves?”

They turned around to find the Astronomy professor standing near the table and glaring at them. 

"Have you been there this whole time?" Cillian asked.

Grayson sighed. “No need to tie yourself in a knot, Lana."

“It’s ‘Ilania,’ you arse.”

“That sounds foreign. Are you foreign?”

Cillian groaned. “Good lord, Grayson. There’s a time and a place.”

“You _ought_ to learn to show respect, old man,” Ilania raged, “because women are not the weak, powerless little kittens you think they are.”

Grayson snorted and waved her off.

She stormed out of the staff room, slamming the door behind her.

The men returned to their papers.

After a respectable length of silence, Grayson said, “that Lana’s trouble. Mark my words.”

Cillian hummed his agreement. “Mm.”

“Pure Evil.”

“It’s in the eyes.”

“As you say.”

Grayson folded up his paper and threw it on the sofa. "Best be off," he said. "I've got a morning class to sleep through."

"Aye, don't we all.”


End file.
